Poetry Over A Bottle Of Merlot

Drunk Poetry Experiment

Shotglass Post

Late Nights of Late

My

mind races,

My

Hearts’ been stopped.

My fingers

bleed.

Her

She said,

Im yours

He repeated.

They were already taken

by the

sea

The Edge

Here,

the edge is where i totter

drifting between opposing circumstances

containing fate.

Security

has long left my mind

my body

my home

my rationality

I always find myself running into such wild

uncertainty.

Madness

I can remember there was a time

when madness wasn’t liquified

in my veins.

Pumping threw me

alive.

Madness is a form of art,

a walk of life,

a nod of the head or

the shake of the hand.

Madness is a discipline

that tells you to dress well

to get a job-

to act accordingly

to create order;

or the thought order could exist.

Madness is a comfort

to the weary and disavowed,

to the lovers and the lonely

to the technocrats governing

us…

View original post 78 more words

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